Constant Sorrows
by MyraKat
Summary: Duo gets some good advice on how to live after the death of the one he loves. 1x2. Character death and angst. Please r&r.


Title: Constant Sorrows  
  
Author: Myrakat  
  
Notes: This is my first Gundam Wing fic. I have only seen about one episode of it, so all my knowledge of the characters comes from the various fansites that I have visited since all my friends fell in love with this show. The rating is due to yaoi references and some cussing. Any similarities of this to any other fiction is purely unintentional.   
  
  
I only met him once, but I remember clearly that first time that I saw him, sitting alone in a corner booth. He wasn't from around here, I could tell that with my first glance. That he didn't want company was apparent also. He sat with his back to the room, shunning everyone, with only his glass to keep him company.  
  
Or glasses, I should say. He had enough to drown an army, but he had ordered yet another.  
  
"Hon, I think that ya've reached the limit," I teased him, setting the ale down. He didn't seem to hear me, but his hand shook as he picked it up.  
  
He looked up then, his dark eyes clouded. If I looked into them, I knew that I would lose myself and tumble down into his hell, a hapless victim of his grief. With a gasp I wrenched my eyes away and he ducked his head, hiding behind a long curtain of bangs. He mumbled something, his words slurring together.  
  
"W-What?" Damn! I chewed on my thumbnail, trying to compose myself. Drunks had never made me lose my nerve before, there was no reason that this one should be any different. His grief and sorrow stabbed through my heart, but sympathy had no place here. Not in this bar, not in this city. The only thing that mattered here was getting out.  
  
"Mo'," he whispered, shoving his glass at me. He swayed slightly, and I shook my head.  
  
"Sorry, hon, rules is that ya can' hold it, ya can' drink it. Go home."  
  
His hands spasmed, clutching at my skirt. "Pl's... mo'... I. I can' fuget..." His eyes bored into mine, pleading with me. Grief had burnt off most of the alcohol and the demons that plagued him danced within their murky depths. I pulled away, frightened.  
  
"Darlin', he botherin' ya? Want me to toss 'im out?" Ken, the bartender, called out across the room. I answered a negative, surprising myself. Some mothering instinct in me, one I didn't know I had, wanted to protect this young man.   
  
His hands reached out once more and I took them in mine. "Maybe I can help you?" I offered, edging closer to him.   
  
"Give me mo'?"  
  
I shook my head, biting my lip. "That ain't very safe, drinkin' that much."  
  
His face darkened, his hands clenching involuntarily into fists. "Safe be damned! I wanna forget!"  
  
My fingers trailed the lines on his face, smoothing away all traces of his anger. My heart wished that it would be that easy to rid him of his pain. "Forget what?"  
  
"Him-- Me-- Us." Tears welled up in his eyes. "He died because of me," he sobbed. "He died because I cared."  
  
I tried to console him. "That don't make someone die, hon." He sniffled loudly, his face red with the effort of holding back his tears.  
  
"I-- I promised him.... That was the last time, I wasn't going--" His voice broke, the sobbing cutting off his confession.  
  
I curled my arms around him, letting him weep against my shoulder. "Yes, go on an' cry... its good for ya." I whispered these things, and more, to him, hoping they would work. They always did in the movies, but those stories were hardly a mirror of real life.   
  
My silly words had some effect on him, as he settled down and started to talk again.  
"If I hadn't loved him... if I had turned him away he wouldn't have been there. I killed him because I was so lonely... so very much alone."  
  
I rubbed his back soothingly. "Hon, only guns kill people. Ya can't have done it by just lovin'. An' it ain't like ya pulled the trigger."  
  
He stiffened, his words coming out in a gasp. "But I did."  
  
What can you do when something like this happens? There are words to say and things to do in such situations, but I wasn't gifted with the mental capabilities to figure them out. Instead, I sat there, frozen, and stared at him.  
  
He raised troubled eyes, locking gazes with me. "It wasn't on purpose... Please, believe me, I would never hurt him!"  
  
I whispered, "I believe you," but he had continued on, not heeding my words.  
  
"He-- he is-- was-- my everything. My life. I can't live without him. I don't WANT to live without him."  
  
His grip on me loosened, his strength washing out of him with every word, every drudged up memory of his former lover. "They wouldn't let me see him... they said it was better that way. I know what kind of destruction Deathsycthe can do, but I had to see him one last time... I had to know for myself. No matter what the pain."  
  
"An' now yer here? Tryin' to hide from 'is ghost behind sum ale?"  
  
"Wouldn't you?" he whispered. "If you had killed the one person that thought you would never hurt them, wouldn't you want to die?"  
  
"Prob'ly, but life ain't that way. It keeps goin'. An' you have ta keep goin' on with it."  
  
"I don't want to! I want to die!" He slammed his fists on the table, sending the nearest glasses to the floor in a spray of ale and splinters.  
  
"No you don't."  
  
My quiet words stilled him and he turned accusing eyes on me. "How dare you say that..."  
  
"If ya wanna die, why havn't ya?" I took his hands in mine again, noting that he'd cut himself on some of the broken glass. "Ya wanna live... and ya should."  
  
"But... but he's gone..." Tears mingled with the blood on our hands.   
  
"An' yer here to keep his memory alive, hon."  
  
He shook his head. "I can't go on without him."  
  
"Ya haveta try."  
  
He scrubbed at his face, sniffling. "I don't wanna forget about him, but it hurts to remember. It hurts too much."  
  
I wish that I could have said that it wouldn't, that that would go away, but I've never been very good at lying. And that was the biggest one there was. "Drinkin' ain't gonna make it bettah."  
  
"I just wanted the pain to go away."  
  
"It gets easier," I told him lamely.  
  
"When? When does it get easier?" he sobbed. "I can't take much more of this..."  
  
"Well, killin' yerself ain't gonna set to well with yer lover. What would he think of ya then?"  
  
He wrung his hands, casting his eyes about, refusing to look at me. "At least I'd be payin' for my sins. I deserve to be in Hell!" He flung this last part at me venemously.  
  
"I'd say yer there already."  
  
"I don't want to hurt anymore... I don't want to feel." He curled up, resting his head against me. Even though I thought that he couldn't possibly have anymore, tears were once again flowing.  
  
"Yer human, ya gotta feel."  
  
"I'm Shinigami. I shouldn't."  
  
I raised his chin, searching his deep eyes. "An' would life be bettah iffn ya dinna feel?"  
  
"No," he choked on the word. "But Heero would be alive. That's all that matters."  
  
"Ya don't know that. Maybe it was his fate he died."  
  
"And what about the others? Why is it always their fate that they should die too? It's all my fault! If I didn't care, then they wouldn't die."  
  
"Everyone dies, hon. Ya can't be stoppin' that. Best ya can do is love'em while they're here."  
  
His voice bitter he replied, "And die piece by piece when they do? That's no way to live."  
  
"Shuttin' yerself off ain't either."  
  
"At least I don't get hurt."  
I sighed. "An' ya don't live. Ya don't feel lonely."  
  
"What would you know about that? You're just a barroom whore." He shot this last at me, trying to wound me.  
  
But I had come to terms with my choice in careers early in life, and insults from grieving drunks were easier to ignore after that.   
  
"At least I'm tryin' to live," I told him levelly, my tone icy. Just because his insult didn't hurt like he'd intended, didn't mean that I wanted to hear more of its kind. "Which is far bettah than what yer doin'."  
  
"What kind of a life can I have without him?"  
  
I hugged him tightly. "A lonely one, but ya got his memories."  
  
"They hurt," he mumbled weakly.  
  
"I know... they will... but," I searched for something to say. Something to give him hope. "The pain lessens."  
  
He sobbed, "I don't know if I want it to. If it stops hurting, does that mean that I've stopped loving him? That I don't want him back?" He looked so young, so lost just then.   
  
"Ya always will," I said soothingly. "Don't forget that, hon. Jus' love him enough to keep on goin', okay?" I smoothed back his bangs and kissed him on the forehead. "Ya need to keep goin' fer his sake, honey."  
  
He nodded slowly, brushing away the last of his tears. "I'll try... Can-- can I have another drink? Water?" He added, seeing my sour expression.  
  
I nodded, leaving him alone while I fetched the pitcher. He had been slumped over, too weary to raise his head, but when I returned he was gone. A stack of bills lay on his seat, but he had vanished into the smoky air of the bar.  
  
I never saw him again.  



End file.
